


have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon?

by archekoeln



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archekoeln/pseuds/archekoeln
Summary: Nathalie is gone.It sinks in that he will never see her again.
Relationships: Emilie Agreste/Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm reposting old fics from that series i deleted some time ago. this was originally posted under the same title last 05/23/2020!
> 
> title is from 'the moss' by cosmo sheldrake

It is at the end of Nathalie’s life that Gabriel abruptly realizes _something_ important.

She has never once mentioned any of her regrets.

There is a recurring thought, or a dream, or both, really, that haunts her since donning the miraculous. 

In it, she dies.

It’s the way her head hands low and her knees give; the way her smile breaks and her eyes close; the way her skin pales and her body drops- they are all reminiscent of death claiming its reward.

She _always_ dies and he has no idea.

The price he _has_ to pay for his wife.

Nathalie never says anything about her regrets. Gabriel has never expressed the desire to know. But it’s there, hanging above her head like a branch out of reach. Like an apple dangling over her starving form. 

She never says anything about her regrets until the point when her breath leaves and when her throat clogs and when her lungs collapse and when her heart stops. The last thought on her mind is a soft, _finally, I'll be free,_ before she is snatched from the windowsill, never to be seen or heard from again. 

But he does not know any of that. All he knows is that she is gone from his life.

In her place stood Emilie Agreste, breathing and alive and _right there,_ surprised and appalled at her resurrection. 

In front of her stood Gabriel Agreste, delighted and confused, his expression cycling between the two far too fast to manage. 

In the days that follow, while he fails to realize what it cost, they adjust to life with Emilie. Because there is nothing else to do _but_ to adjust and hope and pray for the best, whether he believes in a god or karma or both.

Emilie, he remembers, is a cyclone. Large, sweeping movements; loud and out there and _alive;_ always at the center, always at the head, always, always first and last to speak. She commands and she takes and she leaves everything in ruins.

Emilie, he remembers, is a tsunami. The thin veneer of peace between them never lasts, because she will swallow him whole if he lets her. He always lets her. He has never stopped her before and he won’t start stopping her now.

Emilie, he remembers, is the sun. Because he can never look at her like he should; because her warmth is scalding against his skin; because he would much prefer to bathe in the moonlight.

Nathalie, he forgets, was a cyclone. 

Nathalie, he forgets, was a tsunami.

Nathalie, he forgets, was the moon.

Nathalie, he realizes far too late, has never shared, to him, her regrets.

Gabriel, in a sad twist, thinks with his heart. At the crack of dawn, sipping on tea turned cold, he chokes with the realization that _Nathalie is gone._ His heart fills with dread, his emotions flare, and his brain stutters to a complete stop. 

_Nathalie is gone._

It sinks in that he will never see her again. 

He mourns, far too late. He cries and sheds his tears, lets the drops sully the pages of his grimoire, desperation settling like glass shards in his stomach. When Emilie kisses his tears away, when she sits near him and breathes with him and wraps her arms around him, he is reminded again and again and again of Nathalie.

Gabriel closes his eyes, feeling the glass in his stomach might be butterflies instead. He thinks blonde is dark blue. He runs a finger across Emilie's lips and imagines red instead of pink; soft and alluring and _right there._

The kiss he steals from her tastes like cherries instead of peaches (why, of all things) and it feels _right_ and _wrong_ at the same time. 

Still, he leans in again and Emilie eagerly gives him a moment to take it, take _her,_ for himself.

The rest of the day blurs into nothing and all Gabriel can think about are peaches and how he wishes he could have known if they were Nathalie’s favorite.


End file.
